SOMEBODY HELP

Or:

Why my Drug Dealer Freaks Me Out...

My drug dealer really is the nicest Drug Dealer in the world. He has ridden his bicycle 30km in the pouring rain just to give me one pill at 7 in the morning without me having to pay. And other stuff...But still, we all have our dark side...

Recently I texted him something about fixing him up some cash I owed him.

This is the response...his spelling...

Thanks it would help, but you are much loved on this side of the coin my friend, and if I was a chic for a day I'd be one of those sexysuicide dominatrix type chics, i'd be in pvc high shiny boots, a very tight leather corset with a very purple ribbon pulling it together just enough to squash my very tanned puppies up almost to the point that their popping out - you can just see my areolas are exposed but as you look down at my crotch you notice a very large very life like black vainy strap on cock and you are in my motel room after you meet me backstage at the after party for the queens of the stone age (that were playing to a private gig at a party for shock records) and after a lot of substance abuse and jager i take you back to my hote room and tie your arms and legs face down on the bed and with that black cock (which you might not have noticed at the party under my dress because it was duck taped to my leg and as i remove the tape the strap on comes alive sticking out like a big black pudding and as i splash virgin olive oil all over your back and cheeks i tell you it's scented oils but i'd run out in the first two hours of having to be in the the body of a fucking horny slut kitten. And you don't know any of this because your down in the pillow and you squeal when i touch you on your wet date and you scream when you feel your ass dylate as this huge oiled up strap on gets you by surprise but after a few slow jabs you warm to it and start rearing back, you kept this up till you had the whole lot up your ass you came and you paid me and said you'd call me again when you were in town.






Fucking Jesus Christ...How about those riots then hey????

True Grit

Soundtrack: QOTSA / The Blood Is Love


open up your mouth

touch your lips to mine

that we may make a kiss that can pierce through death & survive

your words have branded my mind

still i hold your hand

wrapped as if a ring

we of flesh & blood are only carrying

it's so hard to

well, you know


You want one of those ones? One of those scream at the world, hold your head up high as your fucking bitterness rolls down your cheeks but you grit your teeth and smile and laugh and love posts?

Posts where you bare your soul to cunts you know read this blog and you don't care and you get it all out and the music keeps you going and the angst you feel is doubled, tripled because you've been asked to give up smoking and that's a fucking GIGANTIC crutch. It's a fucking work of art a giant wooden crutch in the middle of a country field and if your hands are just busy then nothing else worms it's fucking way in and you are the freaking Marlboro Man, just for a second, and you want that fucking sickness, because you. are. tough.

Yeah.

So as you're aching, fucking screaming, here come the words because the hands and words are one and that way all you are is a fucking stream of consciousness and a set of ears, and these words, and this music all point directly to that fucked up moral rollercoaster of a heart baby. And it keeps it all together. Just. Just. Just.

And words are just that. Fucking words. But right now, right now they're a whole lot more, they're a glue, a binding agent, and they're fucking setting me free.

You want one o' them posts?

Not today.

BB

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